#had to bust this out quick because i really wanna write that eiland angst fic lmaooo

[atoltia]

Shared Domesticities

hello my attempt at full fluff turned into hurt/comfort so it is what it is. Inspired from @ghostface001 's Eiland x farmer married headcanons. Please go check them out!

Eiland x Gender-neutral Farmer Fluff, hurt/comfort

-0-

Moving in with you was difficult.

Not that he complained, you knew that Eiland wasn't the type to run when things got difficult. But you also know just how drastic the change between living in a farm and living in a magnificent manor was.

You remembered the first time he stayed with you in your house. It was fully upgraded and decorated so it was no shabby thing, but you fully remembered the face he made when he realized that this was the entirety of your living space.

Everything was so close! The fact that he didn't have to walk a long distance just to go to the washroom was amazing to him, that he didn't have to go far to get a snack from the kitchen aside from the small pieces of sweets he kept in a jar besides the bed was so grand.

When you tended the fire in your hearth, he sat with you on the floor, book in hand as he told you all about the urn he found at the western dig site the other day as he held you close.

He liked that, you realized it early on in your relationship, liked the way you touched each other. Whenever you spent time together, he made sure to hold your hand, to have his shoulder against yours, to have a leg crossed over yours whenever you two puzzled over archaic documents in the museum - just to have something of his in contact with you.

It baffled him how much he needed that contact, that physical touch to assure him that you were there. That you were real.

But then the night grew late and you needed to sleep. Eiland wasn't so coddled that he left everything up to you. He did pick up his things, picked up the dishware and set them on to the sink.

And then stared.

It was one of the things that he made up in his mind when you two started your relationship. He swore that he would never let you do everything, swore that he would help out no matter how much enthralled he was to study his books, his artifacts.

By then he was already mentally preparing himself for the labor of farm work, of tending the fields and animals. He read books of them, researched how to properly care for the plants.

But it didn't occur to him that he didn't quite know how to wash the dishes.

That realization embarrassed him, shamed him. It was such a simple thing. He knew how to wash bones, how to clean broken pottery, but somehow, in that moment, he didn't quite know what to do.

It took you a few minutes to realize what was going on.

It was rare to see him so flustered. He didn't fumble, no. He was far more graceful than that. But that deep furrow in his brow indicated a far greater distress than you'd imagined at the time.

So you went to him.

Strong, gentle arms wrapped around his waist as you laid your head on his shoulder, pressing the side of your face to his. You hummed, a soft tune you heard him singing once upon a time, as you rocked him back and forth, back and forth, your hands rubbing circles around his chest as you slowly brought him back to stability.

It wasn't the first time that you saw him get overwhelmed. He's a capable man and you confidently know that he'd be able to adapt to things quickly if he was placed in a strange situation. You've seen it firsthand.

And yet you wished he had that same confidence in himself. Sometimes if faced with a task outside his comfort zone, the negative thoughts would overwhelm him and shut him down. It hurt you to see him like that, though it in itself was a rare occurrence.

So you held him, just held him the way he liked it, held him to show that you were there, that it's okay to be overwhelmed and that it won't make you go away.

When you felt his body relax, you placed a soft kiss on his neck as your hands travelled alongside his arms, on top of his hands that you loved so much, guiding them to the soap and dried loofah you used as a sponge.

Neither of you said a word, the sound of the water from the tap and the soft, clink, clink, clink of the mugs and spoons taking over the comfortable silence that descended upon you.

He appreciated it, appreciated just how patient you were with him. Appreciated how you helped him with no judgement, no ill-intent. You didn't make a fuss of it, either. Didn't make it into a bigger thing. It helped, he hoped you knew just how much it helped.

So the two of you finished washing the dishes and putting the clutter away, decided to end the evening cuddling in bed, discussing about your latest find in soft, whispered tones.

From then on it got easier. There were still hiccups of course, as progress isn't something that came overnight, but it was better. He was getting better. It was easier for him to ask you for help, to ask you to teach him things that, in his mind, he should have learned when he was a child.

But you didn't mind it, of course you didn't.

You watched him now, while sitting under the shade of the orange tree the two of you planted many months ago, as he masterfully tilled the soil in his dirtied cotton shirt loosely tucked beneath his work pants.

He managed to fit it in his already busy schedule. He told you, early on in your marriage, that he would help you in the farm.

And to see him now, smiling under the gentle heat of the morning sun, you knew that it was all worth it.

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